


Comparing Daggers

by todisturbtheuniverse



Series: Tongues Will Wag [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 23:25:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1282561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/todisturbtheuniverse/pseuds/todisturbtheuniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompted by anonymous on Tumblr: Hawke, Isabela, comparing daggers (euphemisms implied :D)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comparing Daggers

"That’s just a wee thing," Isabela cooed, running a gentle finger along the edge of the blade. "You could hardly call it a  _dagger_.”

Hawke, already red around the ears, felt the flush start to seep into her cheeks. Isabela’s toes had been running softly up and down the inside of her calf for the better part of the last ten minutes, and Hawke wasn’t made of stone. She cursed her fair skin and narrowed her eyes at Isabela, whose characteristic smirk was a little deeper just now.

She never knew how to handle the stranded pirate. One moment, they were drinking and laughing companionably—the next, Isabela appeared to be doing her best to get into Hawke’s pants, all while insulting her weaponry in the most infuriating fashion imaginable.

"Tell that to the two hundred and forty-seven people who breathed their last when it kissed their throats," she drawled. Her voice didn’t shiver. "It was dagger enough for them."

Isabela  _tsk_ ed. Her toes stroked down again. The entire right side of Hawke’s body was covered in goosebumps. Isabela’s fingers skipped the distance to the other blade, laying side-by-side with its mate in the middle of the table.

”They’re cheap, Hawke,” she said plaintively, as though it offended her. “And boring. Meeran must have loathed you to make you use  _those_.”

"Au contraire," Varric mumbled into his cup. When Hawke turned her glare on him, his eyes went wide with innocence.

"They were the best the Red Iron could afford," Hawke said deliberately. "They weren’t meant to draw attention; they were meant for subtlety. They were meant for  _functionality_.”

"Poor thing," Isabela sighed, covering a tall yawn with loose fingers. "You’ve been so repressed.”

Varric snorted into his cup, and Hawke, muscles strung overtight from the toes and the teasing, finally snapped. In one fluid motion, she rose, reached across the table, and yanked one of Isabela’s daggers from its sheath. She slammed it to the table hard enough to make her own daggers shiver.

"Hey!" Isabela protested.

"They’re the same size," Hawke snapped. "Maybe if yours didn’t have all those frivolous curves, it would be as big as you claim."

Disbelieving, Isabela nudged the hilt of the dagger, pressing the blades closer for a more accurate comparison. Hawke couldn’t see Varric’s face, hidden behind his cup, but he was shaking with silent laughter.

"Well," Isabela said at last, looking up at Hawke, who still towered over their table, quivering with irritation. "We’ll just have to settle this properly, then, won’t we?"

Behind his cup, Varric choked. It was a testament to the atmosphere of The Hanged Man that no one else noticed anything awry.

Hawke picked up her daggers with steady hands and pointed to the door. “After you,” she said sweetly.

Isabela smiled, a flash of teeth like flint, and reached beneath the table to tug her boot back on. “Oh, Hawke,” she said. Her sultry voice slid down Hawke’s spine, leaving trembling muscles in its wake. “I thought you’d never ask.”


End file.
